Mystic (12 page)

“Actually, I
will
borrow a dress.”

 

SEVEN

THE FIRST TRIAL

A thin mist hovered over Kelt Apar in the pre-dawn light. Standing on the damp lawn near the stone tower, Pomella wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. She wore the dress she and Vivianna had chosen for her a mere few hours before. The red silk brushed her skin in a pleasant way, so much that she constantly found herself feeling its smooth edges with her fingertips. She'd never before been allowed to wear anything like this. Two of Vivianna's attendants had worked to loosen it slightly to account for Pomella's wider hips, but the rest fit well enough.

She adjusted her bosom, where it
especially
fit. Bethy would've been proud.

Her teeth chattered from the chilly air as she waited alone on the lawn. At least, she assumed it was the cold, and not her increasing nervousness. She wished she had her cloak for its warmth and familiarity.

The stone tower loomed above her, its roughly hewn walls rising through the drifting fog. Lights shone in some of the windows, building her anticipation.

Perhaps she'd come too early? She looked toward the cottages and saw Saijar and Vivianna approaching, but no sign of Quentin. Saijar carried some kind of a stringed instrument partially wrapped with a blanket. She wondered what it could be. Oakspring didn't have many musical instruments like that.

Vivianna wore one of the dresses Pomella had wanted to try on, a sturdy blue one with beautiful cream-colored accents. It was nowhere near as low cut as the one Vivianna had worn the night before, nor as accentuating as the one Pomella wore now.

She tensed as the other candidates joined her. They formed a line, standing shoulder to shoulder. Saijar wore a black suit with brightly polished silver buttons running down the front. His matching pin shone on his chest, right above his heart. He openly started at her, measuring her within the dress. A tiny smile crossed Vivianna's face, but she said nothing.

They waited in silence until Pomella's curiosity got the better of her. “Do you know where Quentin is?”

“No. But he will be here,” Saijar said, not looking at her. “He would be a fool to be late.”

As if on cue, Quentin dashed out from the cottages, still fastening a wide leather belt. He settled beside Saijar, on the opposite end of the line from Pomella. He leaned forward and looked across the other two candidates toward her. He grinned. She smiled back.

They waited in silence. The air brightened as the sun rose. Pomella picked at her dress sleeve. Saijar frowned as he shifted from foot to foot. A bark broke the silence and Pomella saw a large brown dog lope over to them. He barked again, playfully, his tongue hanging out.

“Go away, mutt,” Saijar grumbled, but not loudly, as if he was afraid the dog might bite him. The dog barked again, crouching on his front paws, clearly wanting to play.

A shrill whistle called from across the lawn. The dog sprinted toward a large willow tree standing a short distance away. A figure with a wide-brimmed hat stood beneath the tendril-like branches of the tree, holding a rake. As the dog joined him, he bent over to ruffle the animal's fur. The dog leaped up affectionately and bumped the man's hat off. From this distance, Pomella could see the man was older, and had a shaved head.

Saijar craned his neck in the direction of the willow. “Who's that?”

“Probably the gardener,” Vivianna said, also glancing in that direction. “I saw him raking when we arrived yesterday. He looks Unclaimed. I've heard some Mystics will actually take them in.”

Pomella's stomach lurched. The memory of the Unclaimed beneath the old shrine made her uneasy. Generally, people only became Unclaimed as the result of punishment, doled out at a whim by the nobility or Mystics. It didn't help knowing that she could soon become one.

The ground shook, tearing her thoughts and attention away from the gardener and the willow tree. Oxillian erupted out of the soil, pulling up the grass to form a cloak, hood, and beard. “Arise and lift your hearts,” he said. “Mistress Yarina, High Mystic of Moth, comes!”

In the distance, the door at the base of the stone tower opened just as the sun lifted above the treetops. Warm light spread across the lawn, and Pomella wondered if it came from the sun or the open door.

A tall, graceful silhouette emerged and glided toward them. A tingle rippled across Pomella's skin. The High Mystic walked completely at ease, moving as slowly and surely as a drifting cloud. She carried her traditional wooden staff, gnarled and as tall as she could reach, and wore a long light-blue gown with a wide trailing hem. A wreath of tiny white flowers held her long black hair up in an elaborate weave above her head. Her slippered feet left no discernible footprints, as if she walked above the ground and not on it.

The High Mystic kept her eyes forward, never looking directly at Pomella or the other candidates. The ground rose as she approached, reacting to her presence, forming a gentle hill. She faced the candidates at last, and an ornate throne of grass, soil, and flowers blossomed beneath her. Without looking at it, she sat and crossed one leg over the other, her arms easing onto the soft armrests.

Excitement rippled through Pomella. Mistress Yarina was radiant beyond words. A subtle pattern of lotus flowers decorated her blue-and-cream-colored robes, which moved as smoothly as a flower in the the wind. Wide, voluminous sleeves cascaded down her arms. Her blue eyes scanned the candidates, and Pomella felt the power in them as they drifted across her. She noticed the High Mystic's skin, which was a creamy brown, and not more than a few shades darker than her own.

Quentin fell to a knee, followed by Saijar. Vivianna curtsied, and Pomella copied her, keeping her eyes low.

Oxillian lumbered over to stand between Yarina and the candidates, but did not block her view of them. “Candidates!” he boomed. “Rise. You stand in the presence of the High Mystic of Moth.”

They stood, and Pomella felt a lump rise in her throat.
Here
was a truly powerful and beautiful woman, beyond any of the nobles Pomella had ever seen.

“Welcome to Kelt Apar,” the High Mystic said, and her voice filled the clearing like chimes on a crisp day. “I thank you for coming, and commend you for taking the long journey. After carefully considering applications from noble families as far away as the East Continent, I have selected you four to attend these Trials. This is an old tradition, dating back to the earliest High Mystics of Moth. I hope you understand the honor it is to be here. You stand on hallowed ground in the heart of the Mystwood, where the Myst flows free and deep.”

“Step forth, one by one, and declare your intent!” Oxillian called.

Pomella's heart skipped. She didn't know the formalities. Were there certain words she was expected to say?

Quentin leaped forward and knelt, his right knee pressing into the ground. “Mistress Yarina, thank you for receiving me. I am Quentin Bartone, of your homeland of Keffra. I seek to become your apprentice.”

Pomella's eyes widened. The High Mystic was also from Keffra! That was certainly a clip in Quentin's favor.

Yarina nodded to him. “The Bartone family has produced some of history's finest Mystics. I am delighted to see you here.”

Quentin returned to his place in line. Vivianna stepped forth next, and curtsied. Pomella noticed the blue and cream shades of her dress perfectly matched Yarina's. Had Vivianna known what Yarina would wear? If so, how? Pomella suddenly felt even more disadvantaged than before.

“Mistress Yarina, your grace and power inspire me. I am Vivianna Vinnay, and I seek to become your apprentice.”

“Welcome, Lady Vinnay,” Yarina said. “Your family spoke very highly of your affinity for the Myst when they wrote me. I look forward to seeing you demonstrate it.”

Sweat formed along Pomella's hairline. Vivianna slipped back to her place in line. Saijar strode forward with his instrument and bowed. “High Mystic Yarina,” he said, puffing his chest out. “I am Saijar Hanjalus of the Baronies of Rardaria. I have come to your dwelling per the old agreement made by my ancestors to learn the ways of the Myst. I wish to become your apprentice, the sun and Myst willing.”

He readied his instrument by removing the blanket and lifting it to his collarbone, then pulled a long wooden bow across the strings. A violin, Pomella recognized. She'd never seen one before, but was familiar with how they were supposedly played.

Saijar closed his eyes and deftly slid the rod across the strings, slowly at first and then with increased energy. The music added a pleasant warmth to the chill morning. Pomella found herself enjoying the tune. Just as her mind drifted and she began to wonder what lyrics she could sing to such a song, a thin weave of silver light formed above the violin, shaping itself into a vague bird shape. Saijar peeked his eye open and increased the pace of the song. He nudged the bird forward as he played, prompting it to flutter toward the High Mystic. Pomella's eyes popped. He'd just created something with the Myst! She felt her inadequacy double.

The bird drifted toward Yarina, but Oxillian reached out a hand and gently snuffed it out. Saijar ended his song and bowed again, violin and bow spread wide.

“I acknowledge your fulfillment of the old agreements and welcome you,” Yarina said, nodding him back into line.

The absence of Saijar's music emphasized the silence across the lawn. Pomella squeezed her eyes shut and prayed to the Saints for bravery.

She stepped forward, stumbling into a curtsy. “I-I am Pomella AnDone,” she said, her voice quavering. “And I—I am overwhelmed.” She bit her lip, silently chastising herself for saying something so stupid. She rushed on, hoping to just finish it. “I would like to become your apprentice, should you find me worthy.” She peeked up, and saw Yarina's blue eyes pound through her.

“Thank you for accepting my invitation on such short notice,” Yarina said. “I am pleased to host a common candidate for the first time in our recorded history. The garden outside your home is spoken fondly of in several villages here on Moth.”

The blood drained from Pomella's face. She couldn't help but look back at Quentin, whose eyes widened with surprise. Vivianna's jaw dropped. One of Saijar's fists clenched. Pomella swallowed her fear and stepped back into line. The urge to lower her head swept over her. She imagined each of them, especially Quentin, glaring at her. She'd lied to them. She knew it, no matter how much she rationalized to herself that she just had let them convince themselves of something they assumed. Here on this early morning, Mistress Yarina had revealed the truth Pomella had feared to say aloud. Perhaps that was a lesson in itself. She glanced up to meet Yarina's gaze. The High Mystic watched her carefully. Pomella hardened her expression. She would never deceive anyone again, especially in this woman's domain. Flexing her fingers, Pomella held her chin high. Let them look at her. She was here on fair terms.

Still, it was hard not to feel inadequate when all she had to compare to Quentin's legendary family legacy was an overgrown garden back home.

The Green Man squared his bulk to the candidates. “You have each declared your intent to become Mistress Yarina's apprentice. Your applications are accepted. By tradition, because there is more than one candidate, the High Mystic offers you an opportunity to prove your worth by competing in three Trials. Based on the outcome of those tasks, she will select one of you to become her apprentice, and give you your Mystic name. Her decision shall be final and exempt from appeal.”

Pomella risked a quick glance at the other candidates. They all faced Yarina, backs straight. She noticed a tightening around Quentin's jaw. She hoped to Brigid he would listen to her explain the situation. She began to think of what she would say.

“Beginning immediately,” the Green Man continued, “during the days in which you are involved with the Trials, you are to remain within the boundaries of Kelt Apar unless given permission to leave. You will live within the dwellings provided, and keep no outside assistants, advisors, or guardians. You are to complete these Trials alone, with the exception that you may help one another if you choose. You are cautioned to remember, however, that the High Mystic will only select
one
of you. Failure to abide by these terms will result in your dismissal. Do you all understand and agree to this?”

Pomella managed to reply “yes” along with the others. Oxillian looked to Yarina for confirmation, and she nodded, still quietly scanning each candidate. The Green Man turned back to them. “It is agreed. Your first Trial begins now.”

He stepped back and Yarina raised her voice. “Since our arrival at Moth, in a time forgotten by most people, we Mystics have tended the Mystwood and its inhabitants. The threats challenging us over the centuries have been great and varied. Now we are faced with a new one.”